Tag Archives: Pets

When a reader requested more furbaby pictures, I’m sure this wasn’t what he had in mind. But, sad news from the Beale household: yesterday we had to say goodbye to our little Oscar.

Oscar was literally found in the street by our house and named by blog commenters. He was FIV+, so we knew he wouldn’t have a long life, but the end came suddenly and unexpectedly. He started having seizures a couple of days ago and they got increasingly violent and frequent. One seizure at the vet’s office left him blind. So yesterday we helped him across the rainbow bridge. He died in his favorite place: my arms. He was six years old.

Farewell, little buddy. You were a bundle of love in your short life. You are missed.

He’s already outgrown one crate and will soon outgrow the largest crate we own. He weighs close to 70 pounds and is not even 11 months old yet. I’m rethinking the Lab-Pit Bull mix thing and starting to think it’s Lab-Great Dane.

He’s a really sweet boy, though. He’s been easier to train than either of our other two dogs. He’s by far the most laid back puppy I’ve ever known. He loves to play, and he’s a master sleeper. If this is how he is at 10 months I can only imagine his life at 10 years. He’s never shown even the tiniest shred of meanness, he’s just not wired that way. He is oblivious to his massive size, and it’s funny — and dangerous — to see him try to play with the cats, unaware of what an imposing behemoth he is. He’s truly our gentle giant.

I’m a little worried because he seems to be really intolerant of even the smallest amount of heat — 75 degrees wipes him out. Buddy, you are not going to like August! We’ll have to get a kiddie pool for him to jump in, he loves the water.

The only bad thing I can say about him is that he eats his own poop. I think I’ve pretty much broken him of this habit but I can’t be sure because I just don’t give him the opportunity. It’s disgusting, nasty, wretched habit and none of the supposed “remedies” (food additives like “Forbid,” pineapple, etc.) worked.

The sheets of ice that had covered our solar panels started to melt this afternoon. They slid off the roof in a loud rumbling whooosh. While I was concerned about getting decapitated by an ice guillotine, I survived and we had the added benefit of chew-safe playtime for the new “puppy.” Willie is now eight months old and is bigger than our full-grown dogs.

This morning our Maine Coon, Quinn, let us know it was time for him to cross the rainbow bridge. He was around nine years old — not very old by our household’s standards; most of our pets live well into their teens. But Quinnie (as we called him) did not have it easy during his time on earth. He was sickly from day one; when we got him from the Nashville Humane Society he promptly infected everyone in the house with some kind of pneumonitic funk. And from there on he battled skin allergies and immune system disorders.

I spent a fortune on specialists and allergy therapies; he got pollen shots for years, he took steroids and other drugs until we finally found a protocol that worked. More recently it was lymphoma, which required chemo. The lymphoma went into remission and we had Quinnie for about 15 months after his diagnosis, which is far longer than the vet told us to expect. A couple weeks ago we found a mass in his liver, though. He declined quickly after that.

Through it all he was a real trooper, with a big heart and a great attitude. He was an awesome cat.

One of the most unique things about Quinnie was his love of blue foam balls. Not yellow foam balls, not pink foam balls, but BLUE. They had to be blue. He would pick the blue ones out from the rest until we finally figured out we could just buy him blue ones.

You always knew Quinnie was feeling good because he’d walk around the house with a blue ball in his mouth, caterwauling at the top of his lungs. Sometimes he’d make Quinnie art with them. He’d place them on our bed in very precise, organized patterns. Of course he was limited by the number of balls he had access to but once I gave him a whole bunch and he made a perfectly-centered diamond shape on our bed with one blue ball right in the middle. I am kicking myself for not taking a picture of it. It was his masterpiece.

Below, some memories of Quinn. He’s got quite a crew waiting for him on the Rainbow Bridge: Frasier and Sylive and Feister and Puddin’ and Toots, plus the dogs Cleo and Zelda and Boomer. I hope they’re all having a big party up there for him.

It’s been a crazy week with the new puppy, work, preparing for family to visit, etc. Willie has settled right in and is already twice the dog that Chaka and Riley are — as in, knows to sit, stay, go to bed, and DON’T TRIP MAMA WALKING ON THE LEASH. He doesn’t pull, he’s not aggressive, and will grow out of his chewing phase. Now if I can only get him past his feline curiosity he’ll be the perfect dog.

I’m really amazed at what a quick learner he is. It’s taken me years to train Riley to do stuff that Willie is doing after a week, and even then Riley is only somewhat obedient on account of that stubborn pit bull thing. I don’t mean to razz on Riley, he’s a great dog, but he’s quite the pain in the butt compared to a more trainable pup like Willie. And Chaka has been a nutball from day one.

Yesterday we went to a Christmas event and Metro Animal Control (aka, the pound, and no, I don’t even mean like the Humane Society, I mean the city jail for unwanted pets) had some pups out for adoption and this little fella just stole my heart:

His name is Willie, and yes, he’s in that “I experience the world by chewing on it” stage of puppyhood. Four months old, labrador/pit mix. Initially the other dogs extended a welcoming paw though Willie has decided that All Beds And Toys Are Belong To Me, so Riley is rethinking this whole “new puppy” thing:

And as for the cats, well, it’s obvious he thinks they’re self-propelling dog toys. The cats are giving him a wide, wide berth right now. And Riley is pretty sure I’m going to change my mind:

People, I have to warn you: do not and I repeat do not, under any circumstances, use CostCo’s “Kirkland Signature” brand of flea & tick control! We’ve just had a disastrous experience not even 24 hours after applying the product to our cats.

I’ve used Advantage, Frontline and Revolution on our six cats for years. I didn’t know that CostCo even had its own brand of flea & tick treatment until Mr. Beale and I attended a crafts fair and CostCo had a table set up where they were advertising this stuff and selling memberships. Well, we’ve been CostCo members for years so we thought, “cool, a cheaper flea & tick treatment, what’s not to love?”

Hair loss! And a nasty mess all over the house, that’s what! OMG, this is the worst stuff ever. Almost as soon as we applied the treatment our cats’ hair started falling out. And the stuff doesn’t absorb like other flea products, so it leaves huge greasy stains everywhere — furniture, bedding, you name it. I had to wash the sheets on our bed after Quinn took his afternoon nap on it!

Look:

Quinn’s hair started falling out ….

So did Como’s ….. finding this stuff EVERYWHERE ….

…. and I won’t bore you with photos of my dirty laundry. I’m wishing I’d read the product reviews at Amazon before using this stuff because the reviews are universally negative. I’m so disappointed in CostCo, it appears this product has been poisoning peoples’ pets for over a year, and there they are promoting it at a crafts’ fair? Shame on them.

I’m worried sick that more serious symptoms will appear. Our cats are like our children, and the idea that I’ve actually poisoned my animals has me frantic. I’m going to call the vet as soon as they open and see what they recommend, I might be spending my day giving six cats a bath. :-0

Anyway, it’s too late for me, but save yourselves! Do not use this product!

I got nuthin’ today … really busy weekend for us, and if I can take advantage of 50-degree sunshine to wash the bird poop off my car, I will.

In the meantime, enjoy this picture of adorable Oscar. Oscar went through a really weird stage where he’d look so dang cute but as soon as the shutter clicked, his eyes would cross, his hair would stick out in all different directions, and his teeth would snaggle. I just couldn’t get a decent picture of him to save my life. But he seems to have figured out this “pose for the camera” thing.

Also, enjoy this interactive map of vaguely rude place names, because not everyone likes cats, and I feel like I’m 12 today.

Are you excited for the big game? And by that I do mean Puppy Bowl! I totally am! I’m rooting for Gunther, who reminds me of my own Riley, though Masquerade has that awesome one-blue-one-brown eye thing going. Here’s the starting lineup.

A few readers have asked me for some more kitteh and puppeh blogging. Without further ado:

Riley Thinks Julius Needs More Bediquette

Quinn: Assistance Neither Required Nor Desired

Cleo: I Can Haz Another Cushion?

Cleo is the senior citizen in the house. She’s 14 years old and really doing well since her kidney surgery back in August. I was doing some housecleaning today and had the dog beds piled up so I could mop floors and she thought that looked like the perfect place for her achey bones!

Below is my own version of Puppy Bowl: Chaka and Riley playing in our pathetic snowfall (which is all gone, I might add). You might need some Dramamine before watching the video; hey, I shot it on an iPhone, what can I say: